Violent Skies (269 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Steve St. IHOP of Awesome (View user info) at 2006-11-06 04:27:01 EST
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
My grandfather stood at the foot of his hospital bed. He cleared his throat and shook his head at the form under the white sheets.
"You should just let me go, Lucky," he chided. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He wandered over to the window and began his attempt to open it.
I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. "You don't have to open the window, farfar. You're a ghost. They won't smell the smoke."
I was beginning to dislike the conversations I was having with my disembodied grandfather while I held his still warm hand in mine. His body was still breathing. Occasionally his eyes would flutter open to give my heart a good wrench. But his ghost has been haunting his room since last Tuesday.
Last Tuesday was when he had the final stroke.
I should have let him go then.
"You don't get it," he shook his head and gazed out over the hospital grounds. The hospital grounds were more like a parking lot with seven trees in concrete purgatory.
Smoke streamed around his head but I didn't smell it. I was beginning to miss the tough scent of his tobacco. It would linger in our house for days after his visits. I would revel in it because that smell was farfar. It wasn't this hollow sterility I've been living with for three years.
Three years of homes and hospitals.
I've grown up in the time it has taken him to die.
"It's going to rain," he said. "Just might snow too. You should go home, Lucky. I don't want you to end up in a bed like me."
I placed a kiss on his forehead and watched the ghost reach up to caress the same spot on his head. Gathering my things, I watched them both with tired eyes. This was my fault. It wasn't my father's. He was too dead to know any of this was happening. My mother and grandmother were in the ground beside him so they couldn't help. My only living relative, Uncle Frederek, could be in Brazil for all I know.
If it wasn't for that damned ghost, I'd be completely alone in this.
"I...I'll be back in the morning," I said.
From the window, the ghost gave a gruff nod. "I might come with you."
He still stood there, staring out the window.
"Just don't scare the shit out of me," I replied before stalking out the door. I tried to look busied and angered by my visits. I don't know why I always storm out like I do. Maybe if the nurses think I hate my grandpa, they'll give him an overdose of something sleepy and end all of this.
Bits of white sparkled down from the sky as angry clouds churned above me. I stared up, pulling my collar around me. I hated giving the sky metaphorical qualities but sometimes it senses my moods all too well.
I got into my small car and started the engine. Staring at the dashboard, I gave myself another opportunity to cry. Again, I didn't take it.
"Go home, Johan. Don't sit here and mourn. It's a waste of time."
I glanced over my shoulder to confirm my grandfather was sitting in the backseat. He was his younger self now, not the old man who lurked in his hospital room. He was tall and blond, nearly identical to me. His leather jacket was a soft brown. I was always drawn to black. My hair was longer and tousled. I liked to think I was in style. His was cut as it always was - short and neat. He took a long drag on his cigarette and again I longed for that scent to bake into my car.
He had the cockiness of a pilot. He carried that with him all of his life. He liked to say that him and death were old buddies and that this was payback for stiffing him on beers on many occasions.
I was on the road when I began to speak again, "Tell me why you call me Lucky again, farfar."
I hadn't asked him that since I was seven. My grandfather had pulled me up onto his knee and ruffled my hair. He laughed every time I asked him how I earned my nickname. I always thought the story was a lie, so eventually I just stopped asking. But the memory of his laughter still made me smile. He wasn't laughing now.
He stretched out his arms along the back of the bench seat, "You know the story. You tell me."
My grandfather was a pilot in Sweden during World War II. Sweden was neutral but still patrolled their borders for hostilities. His future wife, my grandmother, was a Finn. They'd just met at the start of the war and weren't married, but he still wanted to do everything for her. When Russia attacked Finland, he couldn't sit by and be neutral. My great grandfather had been English, so my grandfather found a way into the Royal Air Force. I never believed his stories until he showed me the pictures. It all seemed like some tall tale he dreamed up to fill his only grandson's head with dreams of flight.
"Your squadron was given a mission to protect ships in the channel. It wasn't the dogfights you dreamed of, but it was doing your part. You weren't a pacifist like everyone else at home," I paused to switch on the windshield wipers. The snow wasn't melting when it hit the ground. This fall was here to stay.
My grandfather continued the story before I could begin again.
"We were prepping for the mission. I was heading to the hanger when a little blond boy ran up to me. I'd never seen him before, but somewhere inside I knew he was a part of me. He was all my good bits and none of the bad. But he stopped me dead and grabbed my hand. 'Farfar,' he said, 'don't go.' He stood in my way and tried to warn me with his big blue eyes that there were dangers out there that I couldn't fight," my grandfather sighed. "I didn't go. And they were ambushed in the channel."
"And they all died," I added flatly.
He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "When you were born, I knew you'd been there to save me. Your father wasn't even a thought in my mind, but you were. You're my Lucky. I wouldn't want anyone else to watch over me now but you."
The quiet that filled the car lasted until I reached my flat. I turned around to tell him goodnight, but he was gone.
My grandfather didn't deserve to die like every other dying person in that hospital. He wasn't meant to be the vegetable I've allowed him to become. His ghost is my punishment. His body is my responsibility.
I crawled into my empty bed and shivered. Cold was pouring in between the seals of my windows as the snow continued to fall. I was putting my life on hold while I waited for him to die. I had dropped out of school. I hardly ever went to work anymore. I was living off my parents' life insurance, which should be going towards paying off school. I've always had a feeling that I've never belonged. Unless I was with my grandpa, I was lost. When I lose him, I'll lose myself.
I took another moment to let myself cry and again I let it pass.
This wasn't my life. This was the end of his. I should have let him go into the violent skies. He didn't deserve to die here on the cruel earth.
A shock of winter lightning sparked outside my window. It arced against the sky, shaking me awake. As the ghost image faded from my eyes, I caught a hint of my grandfather's cigarettes.
I must undo all of this.
In my dreams that night, I was the small boy again.
His story about me being his lucky charm had never seemed real to me. I thought it was another one of his stories. He liked to tell me things and lead me along. I always doubted he was a pilot until he proved it to me. Now, he's proving to me that apparitions are real and seeing them apparently runs in our family.
We were sitting on the grass next to the hanger. Everything was cast in sunlight, but the sky was a deep black. I couldn't understand it. The grass underneath my hand felt surreal, matching the otherworldliness of the sky above. The texture, the smell...this was more than a dream. But how could it be?
My grandfather saw me wondering and took my hand.
"How much do you love me, farfar?" I asked, my voice small and ancient. I was an echo of my past, remembering something I shouldn't be able to recall.
His face was young but I could still see his wisdom hidden in his eyes. He dropped his head and brought my hand to his mouth. He kissed my small knuckle then let me go.
"I love you enough, Lucky," he said as he stood. "Just enough."
He took a few steps forward before stopping.
"Come fly with me," he smiled over his shoulder.
I didn't need to think about it. I took his hand and together we crossed the runway.
We climbed up into his plane and he gave me a bright grin. This was what had to be. I had stood in the way of destiny once; it's wrong to let it happen again.
Somewhere in a past that wasn't mine, I flew up into the violent skies. I closed my small eyes and let the wind rush by me, as we were welcomed into an uneasy freedom.
Last Tuesday, in the same sick room, an old diabetic woman looked out at the seven trees in the hospitals' parking lot.
In an eyeblink, she swore she felt the presence of a man who was never there.
"It's going to snow next week," she said to the empty spirit.
She rolled over and wrapped herself in the thin sheets. She shivered and mumbled to herself.
"I never liked the snow."
User Reviews
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-06-05 12:20:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2